


Keeps Me Warm

by FettsOnTop (GTFF)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Mouth-to-Mouth, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2018, The Healing Power of Cuddles, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-29 13:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTFF/pseuds/FettsOnTop
Summary: When a mission turns disasterous, Leia receives help from an unexpected source.





	Keeps Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/gifts).



“Use the escape pods. Go! Now!” Her words cut through their shock and the crew scatters.

“Commander.” One remains. Her eyes are fixed on out the front viewfinder, the rapidly approaching frozen landscape. Leia knows what she’s thinking. But someone has to stay at the helm and keep the ship steady long enough for the pods to jettison.

“Go! That’s an order!” The ship is too badly damaged to change course. Too _kriffed_ to even slow down. All she can do is hold on, and hope the frozen lake ahead will buy her enough time to escape.

She’s alone at last in the cockpit, surrounding by flashing red lights and frantically beeping monitors. “I know,” she mutters. “Believe me, I know.”

If this is the end…

Her first thought is of her son. She wishes it wasn't.

She can still see the hurt in his eyes. The helpless rage. Maybe one day he'll understand why she didn't tell him. Her second thought is for Han. Their marriage might be falling apart, but she’ll always love him. Then there’s her brother.

 _Luke_.

There isn’t time for more thoughts.

The ship hits the ice with enough force to rattle her teeth. Thw frozen surface cracks almost immediately beneath the weight of the ship, and the cockpit begins to tilt to one side. Time to go. She hits the emergency release on the seat straps and scrambles up, grasping onto various handholds as the ship shudders and the ice gives way. The top hatch isn’t far, if she can just-

The ship rolls, throwing her into the wall. Pain explodes at the back of her head as she slams into a durasteel corner and her vision swims.

She can’t stop. She can’t stop or she’ll be trapped here under the icy water. She crawls, even as the ship turns again and her leg catches on a utility hook. She can hear her pants tearing as she kicks herself free, and sharp pain...

Just a few more feet.

Her hands wrap around the bars on either side of the hatch. The narrow windows on either side show her exactly what she dreaded. The hatch is now underwater.

Damn it.

She slams the control panel with her fist and holds on for dear life as the water comes flooding in.

It’s the last thing she remembers before a cold metal floor, and a stranger’s mouth on hers. He blows air into her lungs and she gasps, turns to the side and retches.

Oh gods she’s so _cold_.

She’s soaked to the skin in water so cold her arms and legs are useless and numb. She coughs up water until it burns, and musters just enough strength to look up at her rescuer. He’s kneeling on the floor beside her, his mouth and chin wet, his chest heaving.

It’s hard to guess his age. Older than her, but not old. There’s no gray in his dark hair, his brown eyes are sharp. He looks down at her, more resigned than relieved. He’s wearing combat armor that looks oddly familiar. Then he picks up the helmet on the floor by his knees.

It can’t be.

Boba Fett.

“You’re dead,” she says, her throat raw and hoarse.

One dark eyebrow lifts marginally. “You’re not.”

He leaves her there on the cold floor, shivering and shaking. She tries to move, tries to brace her hands on the floor but her limbs are rubber. Her head throbs. Her leg throbs.

Suddenly he’s back, a blanket in his hands. “You need to get out of those clothes.”

“I...cant. Can’t move.”

He kneels beside her again, his gloved hands brisk and efficient. Her soaked clothing slaps against the floor as he tosses it aside. She’s still so cold. When he scoops her up, it’s hard not to curl into hint of warmth beyond his armor.

He puts her down on the blanket and wraps the edges around her. “Triage time.” A med kit bag hits the floor beside her head. It’s clearly not his first time dealing with injuries. He cleans the wound on her leg and wraps it. Cuts away hair matted with blood from the back of her head and applies a bacta patch, holding it in place with a bandage around her head.

“Antibiotic,” he says, showing her two injectors. “And this one’s for the pain.”

She nods meekly, because she can’t do anything else.

“You have people nearby? Reinforcements?”

“Just m-my crew. The escape pods.”

He puts away his kit and regards her for a moment. “Four pods?”

“Yes.”

“The locals got ‘em.”

Leia closes her eyes. “Captured or shot down?”

“Shot down.”

So much for that. She burrows down into the blanket. It’s worn, but it’s soft and it smells...masculine. It’s his blanket, probably from his bed. “You saved me.” She wants to ask why, but maybe it’s best not to look a gift bantha in the mouth. “Thank you.”

He nods, but says nothing in return.

“How...how did you find me?”

“I wasn’t looking for you.” He jerks his head towards a containment cell, where a Dug slumps against the wall, seemingly unaware of their presence. A one-way stasis field. Probably sound-proofed too. “I saw your ship go down,” the bounty hunter continues. “Heat signatures showed that someone was still aboard, so I threw a line down from the cargo hold.”

“A line? I don’t remember that.”

“You grabbed on to it. I was going to leave you on the shore, but…” He grimaces slightly, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. “The locals weren’t cooperative.”

“Oh.”

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers in front of her face, and she blinks up at him, annoyed.

“What?”

“Your eyes unfocused. Can you count to five?”

“One. Two. Three… _Kriff_ , I’m cold _._ Four. Five.”

“The last time we saw one another, what world was it on?”

“Tatooine.”

“And what are you doing here?”

She looks up at him and grinds her chattering teeth together. “That’s classified.”

“Worth a shot.” He leans over her again, one arm under her neck and the other behind her knees. “I’m going to take you somewhere warmer.”

She thinks she might have enough strength to fight back. Get her hands on something sharp. Stab in him the side where he doesn’t have armored plates to protect him.

But only if necessary.

“How did you survive?” She asks, her voice still raw and rough. “On Tatooine. I thought you got eaten by the sarlacc.”

“The sarlacc found me indigestible.” He stoops to lay her on a narrow bunk. This ship doesn’t have much in the way of sleeping quarters.

Leia shivers and watches as he takes a container of broth off a shelf and sets the automatic warmer. When it beeps, he drops a straw into it and takes an experimental sip. “Warm,” he says, holding it level with her face. “Not hot.”

It tastes like the inside of a can, but it _is_ warm and it soothes her ragged throat. “You’re being very nice to m-me,” she says when the container is empty. Her belly is now pleasantly warm. The rest of her still feels like an ice block, but it’s a start.

He shrugs and throws the container away. “Sunk cost. If you die now I’ve wasted a lot of time saving your life.”

“And my life is worth a lot to the right people.”

“Also that.”

“I can be very generous with rewards, Fett.”

“How generous?”

She’s really not in the mood to negotiate. Not while she’s naked and shivering. “Seventy thousand.”

The corners of his mouth curl up just slightly. “Ten thousand more than the highest bounty on your head. You know what you’re worth and you didn’t try to lowball me.”

“I’ll make it seventy-five if you’ll turn up the heat.”

“Can’t. Drains the fuel reserves and it’s a long jump to nearest friendly space station.” He looks down at her for a moment, considering. “I might be able to get you warm another way.”

He unclasps his belt and pops the seals on the lower plate of chest armor. Leia stares at him, thinking there must be some other explanation, but no, he’s undressing. She clears her throat as he removes his chest plate entirely and starts on his bracers. “What exactly am I paying for here?”

“Body heat.”

“Oh.”

He pops a panel out of the wall. There’s a well-used drawer with compartments for each piece of armor. Then he empties his pockets of everything from spare charges to throwing knives. “Can I have one of those?” Leia asks.

His brows lower. “Why?”

“Insurance. In case you get fresh.” She says it with a smile, or at least an attempt at one. “A lady can’t be too careful.”

He slides one of the slender blades out and hands it to her, handle first.

“ _Such_ a gentleman.” If she doesn’t end up killing him, she might be starting to like him. 

He’s down to a high-necked flight suit now, his sharp edges rumpled and soft. There have to be better bases for armor. Sleek. Techno-modded. Even the blacks that stormtroopers wore under their armor looked better, and they were antiques compared to what was available now.

Maybe it was camouflage. Baggy, rough-spun camouflage. Hiding the strength she felt in his arms when he lifted her. Distracting from the lightness and effenciency of his movements. Fett drops onto the edge of the bunk and rolls into her space. He carefully lays an arm around her on top of the blanket and positions his leg over her uninjured one. 

He is uncomfortably close, but he is also _warm_. The man is a damn furnace.

The shivering slowly abates, the chill fades from her bones. Their position leaves her eyes level with his chin, inches away from the dark stubble on his jaw and throat. Just under the high collar of his suit she can see a glimpse of scarred flesh, some kind of old burn that vanishes beneath his clothing.

A man in his profession probably has a lot of scars.

“Feeling warmer?” The words stir over her hair with a puff of warm breath.

“A little.” Leia tucks her chin in and burrows a little closer to his heat. She presses her cold-tipped nose into his throat and closes her eyes, divorced from all shame. He smells like his blanket, clean and warm and reassuringly human.

His pulse skips against her cheek.

It’s a been a long time since someone held her like this.

If she concentrates very hard beyond the dull ache of her head she can almost feel the quick shuffle of his thoughts and the thick bands of caution that binds them. He knows exactly where she tucked that knife. 

She doesn't think she'll be using it.   



End file.
